


Still I Will Follow

by jujubiest



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dean and Cas live a long long life together, Fix-It of Sorts, Growing Old Together, M/M, Married Castiel/Dean Winchester, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29473416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jujubiest/pseuds/jujubiest
Summary: Dean and Castiel live a long, long life together. They make memories. They grow old. They fill their years with love and family. But they are not immortal. Eventually, everything dies.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 9
Kudos: 45





	Still I Will Follow

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what possessed me to write this the literal day after their wedding, but. Sometimes that's just how it is.

By the time Dean finally goes to Heaven, he's almost unrecognizable as the man Castiel first met when he pulled him out of Hell.

He's old, truly old. Some people diminish in old age, get small and thin and frail. Some hunch over, weighed down by the years. Dean had done neither. If anything, he had only...faded. He still stood straight at 95, tall and square-shouldered. The lines of him were softer, harsh angles rounded off slightly by years of good food and the comfort of not having to fight for his life on a daily basis. His hair was white, his face deeply lined, and the vibrant green of his eyes was a shade paler than it used to be.

And Castiel loved him, every white hair and wrinkle, until the very last. By then he had countless wrinkles of his own as well, and his hair was steely gray. He had gone a little thin and frail by then, all knobby joints and skinny limbs. His body, he thought, had been several years older than Dean's to begin with. It didn't show until it did, and Dean's was the shoulder he leaned on when his walk slowed to a tired shuffle.

Aging came with aches and pains, frustrating, hindering. But he took them all in stride, because they were the all too human price of something so incredibly precious: time. Years and years of time spent at each other's side. Laughing, arguing, loving each other regardless. Years of mornings waking up in the same bed. Years of movie nights and memories, meals shared. Years of watching their kids grow up and start to get old as well.

Dean slipped away in his sleep in the end, peaceful and quiet and nothing he had imagined when he was forty. Castiel woke up knowing something was wrong, and that knowing quickly settled into a grief so deep he thought it might swallow him whole, before leveling out at last into a certainty: he would see Dean again, and soon.

He felt it, with some long-dormant instinct of the unfathomable creature he used to be. He had heard of couples dying in quick succession, the second as though from a broken heart. Experiencing it himself, it felt more like a delayed reaction than a sudden decline. He was done the moment Dean went, would have gone with him...but one of them had to stay behind a little while. One of them had to say their goodbyes, put a few things in order, make sure the kids would be okay. So Castiel held on, held to his life with both knobby, arthritic hands. Once that job was done, then he could let go.

The funeral was crowded, massive, like a dark reflection of all the parties he and Dean had thrown when they were younger. In the first few years of their marriage, any excuse would do to drag their extended family together, eat too much food, and celebrate long into the night. New year’s day, Christmas, Halloween, birthdays. Really they were just excuses to celebrate being alive, and happy, and together.

Many of those beloved faces stood around the funeral pyre, and many new ones besides, somber and pained as Castiel stepped forward to light it. The dry wood went up fast, the heat of the flames washing over him and sinking into his skin, all the way down to his bones. He leaned heavily on Claire, feeling truly old. Not one hundred, which he must be near by now. He felt angelically old, millennia old, and as he looked across the dancing flames at all the faces of his friends, his family, his only thought was _not long now. Wait for me, Dean. I'll see you soon._

He's sure the reception will be lovely. Fitting that it should be at the Roadhouse, where he and Dean made so many happy memories over the years. He begs off via the excuse of his age, hugging everyone within reach goodbye--Claire and Kaia, Alex, Patience, Sam and Eileen and their boys. He holds each of them tightly, a moment longer than usual. If they notice, no one says anything. They probably put it down to grief.

Jack drives him home, glancing worriedly at him every few minutes the entire way. He grew up wonderfully, their son. He’s still curious about everything, still delights in all the small joys and wonders of life on Earth. His uncertainty has settled into a quiet thoughtfulness, and his early experiences of loss instilled him with a seemingly boundless well of compassion for all creatures great and small. Castiel is so proud of him. He’s so grateful, to be Jack’s father.

When they arrive at home, Jack turns off the car and sits still for a long moment. He knows, or perhaps only guesses, and Castiel doesn’t move, bracing himself for his son to ask him to stay. Unsure whether he will be able to refuse him--or to grant his wish. He feels tired all over, weary beyond any weariness he has yet known. He’s held on through the initial onslaught of grief, through the funeral preparations, through the funeral itself. He’s held on for the goodbye hugs and soft, loving words that will be his family’s last memory of him. He’s not sure how much longer he can hold on, and he knows he doesn’t really want to. 

But at last Jack only sighs and gets out of the car, helps Castiel out as well and walks him inside. It’s dark and quiet, all its other inhabitants at Dean's final farewell party, most likely drinking and reminiscing, telling all their old stories over again. In those stories Dean is young and strong, never-aging, legendary. Castiel prefers to remember the man over the legend: brash, stubborn, ridiculous at times, loved his family more than anything else, could start an argument with a brick wall if he was in the mood. Wedding ring on a chain around his neck because it wouldn't go over his knuckles anymore, bad eyes, worse knees, scarred body, a slight tremor starting in his hands.

Still beautiful. Still Dean Winchester.

Jack walks Castiel down the stairs and into the kitchen, moving toward the coffee pot as though he plans to stay. Castiel sits heavily at the table, sighing in relief at being off his feet at last. He really is old. Without Dean, all the fun has gone out of it.

He watches Jack make a pot of coffee, then settle down on the bench across from him and fix him with that all-too-knowing stare. He stares right back, still bracing himself.

Jack doesn't speak. Just drinks his coffee. Castiel relaxes into the silence, enjoys just being here with his son. When Jack is done he stands, and Castiel stands with him. He wraps Castiel in an embrace, too tight, but Castiel just holds on, closes his eyes.

"I love you," Jack says. He pulls away, looks Castiel in the eyes again.

"I love you, too," Castiel says. "I'm so proud of you." He smiles, though his heart is still aching.

Jack smiles back. He still looks like a little boy when he smiles. It's so reminiscent of Dean. Castiel feels the ache in his chest intensify.

"Goodbye, Dad," Jack says softly. Like he knows. Maybe he does.

"Goodbye, Jack." He tells his son. He watches him go, hears his footsteps echo down the hall before fading all together. The metallic wrenching of the door being opened. The slam of it closing again.

Castiel is alone with the quiet.

He makes his way, slowly, through their home. The kitchen was one of Dean's favorite rooms, so it's only fitting to start there. The fridge always stocked. The pantry, spices and boxes and cans all neatly arranged. This was Dean's way of loving people, feeding them. Making sure his family always had a good meal to gather around. Castiel can almost picture him, standing at the stove, stirring a pot of stew or, more likely, chili. Adding enough spice to give them all indigestion for a week. Wrinkling his nose as he tried some vegan recipe for Sam that would nevertheless smell and taste amazing.

Castiel shuffles down the hall and through the library. This was more Sam's room than Dean's, but Dean kept it meticulously all the same. The wooden tables never lost their polished sheen. The books never accumulated dust. He doesn't linger long in the library; just long enough to run his fingers one last time over the grooves carved into one table. SW. DW. MW. JACK. CASTIEL W. He remembers when Dean carved the W, the morning after their wedding. He traces those grooves a second time, tenderly, as gently as he might have traced the faint scars on the hands that carved them.

Next, down the hall, is the bedroom they shared. He stops in the open doorway, looks over the unmade bed, the books on the shelves, the record player and records in the corner. Their space. He doesn't go in, doesn't linger. He can't bear to, knowing Dean will never sleep here again.

Instead he heads further down the hall. Past the room that's Claire's when she comes to visit. Past Jack's as well. Past Sam and Eileen's room, and their boys'. Several of the other rooms have temporary occupants right now, but Castiel doesn't remember all their names. They’ve cleared out for the day, most of them probably at the Roadhouse with the rest of the family.

Finally, he reaches the end of the bedrooms. The room he wants is here, before the storeroom or the little-used dungeon. Dark at the moment, but warm and inviting as soon as Castiel finds the switch on the wall and flips it.

A couch. Two squashy chairs. A beanbag in one corner, a more recent addition. All clustered around a TV that's several decades out of date by now. Movie posters and family photos on the walls and shelves. Blankets tossed over the backs of all the seating, not re-folded since the last time they were used. The "Dean Cave." Where their family spent so many nights talking, laughing, watching movies.

He and Dean made other memories here, too, ones they would never tell the others about. He smiles softly, remembering nights curled up on the couch in front of a movie neither one of them ended up watching. He feels Dean here, in the care taken to make this a cozy and comforting space. This was another way he showed his love: giving his family a place to relax and spend time together.

Castiel shuffles over to the couch, where he and Dean always sat. Just two nights ago they were right here, Dean on the outside, Castiel leaning against him. They'd watched some movie Castiel has already forgotten, something that was old even when he and Dean were young. He had been interested in it at the time, but now all he recalls is the rise and fall of Dean's chest beneath his ear, warm and steady and alive. He feels tears prick at his eyes at the memory.

He sits down in that very spot. Sinks into the cushions, too soft for his bad back but it doesn't matter. He reaches up to drag the blanket draped over the back of the couch across his shoulders, buries his face in the soft knit. It still smells like Dean.

He falls asleep there, surrounded by the evidence of Dean's life, his love. And sometime in the night, all his tasks complete, he finally lets go.

When he opens his eyes, he's standing under a brilliant blue sky. The air is clear and fresh, smells like pine needles after a storm. There are trees in the distance, a long line stretched beside a wide, open road that beckons to him: _follow me._

And there, right there in front of him, parked and idling on the side of that road, is a familiar black car gleaming in the morning light. Leaning against her shining hood, looking young and bright and strong as ever, smiling wide, hands in his pockets, is--

"Dean."

Dean’s smile softens into something sweet and intimate as he pushes off the car and steps forward.

"Hey Cas," he says, and Castiel's chest could crack open with all the love in those two simple words. God, he's missed him so much.

He doesn't say anything else. He isn't sure he could if he tried. He just runs--on legs that can do that again, he realizes distantly--and throws himself into Dean's waiting arms.

"I missed you, too," Dean laughs, holding him close. "No such thing as Heaven without my angel." Cas laughs too, but it's watery. He holds Dean tighter. Dean just lets him, presses a kiss to his hair and waits him out.

When he finally pulls back, Dean's eyes are suspiciously bright.

"Sorry you had to be the one to stay behind," he says. "I wouldn't have left you if I had a choice."

Castiel smiles and wipes at a tear before it can escape Dean's lashes. His face is as beautiful as it was when Castiel first met him, tanned and freckled, almost devoid of lines. But his eyes are old, soft, familiar. They're the same eyes Castiel looked into two days ago, last week. They hold all the years between them, all the memories, and Castiel is glad. He won't be sorry to lose the aches of old age, but he would never want to go back to who they were before. He loves that Dean, as he would love any Dean. But this is _his_ Dean. This is his husband of over fifty years, and he will accept no substitutes.

"It's alright," he says. It is, now. "I knew I'd see you soon."

Dean takes his hand, squeezes gently.

"How're the kids?" He asks. "And Sammy? They take it okay?"

"Of course not,” Castiel says, lightly admonishing. “They miss you. They will miss me. They'll mourn us both, and it will be hard. But they'll be fine, in the long run. They’re strong.”

"Yeah," Dean says, pressing a kiss to the hand he's holding. "Yeah, you're right. We did good, huh? With them. Our life."

"We did." Castiel smiles then, glancing beyond Dean’s shoulders at the car. "Planning a road trip?" Dean grins, eyes sparkling in the sun.

"Hell yeah," he says. "Figured we'd get the lay of the land before we pick a spot to settle down. Maybe visit some folks. Mom, Bobby, Ellen. Anybody in particular you wanna see? Anywhere you wanna go first?”

Castiel thinks about it for a moment. Doesn't rush himself, because they have time.

They had time on Earth, too, and it was good. They made the most of it. But Castiel knew years ago that a human life would never be enough. Forty years with Dean, fifty, more? There is no number Castiel could reach where he would feel satisfied. Where he'd be ready to say goodbye.

He used to think his deadliest sin was envy, or maybe pride. Now he wonders if it was greed.

It doesn't matter. Because they have forever. Forever with Dean: the one thing Castiel wanted.

And now he has it.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from an old church hymn.


End file.
